


Until it Sleeps

by cloudsurfing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s01e06 Skin, First Time, M/M, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform, angstish PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsurfing/pseuds/cloudsurfing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Haven't you noticed? Don't you see the way he looks at you? He's so desperate that you'll never find out."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until it Sleeps

**Author's Note:**

> For whismicalnotion. First posted on livejournal 15 Jan 2007.

**I**  
  
  
"I've gotta tell you, Sam, your brother's a complicated guy. Half the things he thinks about every day would have you running away from him as fast as you could get." The Shapeshifter walks over to stand next to where he's got Sam tied up on the floor, hands and feet bound. He looks down at him, waiting for an acknowledgement, something to show that Sam's listening, and then nudges him with the toe of Dean's boot when he doesn't get it. "Are you listening to me, little brother?"  
  
Sam doesn't reply, not sure what's being implied or what he can trust to believe or how he's going to get out of this intact. All Sam needs is one opening, one mistake, but he knows Dean'll never forgive himself if something happens to Sam. The Shapeshifter crouches down next to him, watching him carefully, appraising Sam as he continues not to answer.  
  
"Haven't you noticed? Don't you see the way he looks at you? He's so desperate that you'll never find out."  
  
Sam frowns and then shakes his head in denial as comprehension dawns. "Shut up."  
  
"No." If this were Dean, Sam would say he's being completely serious, but it isn't and he can't trust his instincts here. "You have no idea the things he dreams about, it's sick. His own  _brother_."  
  
"You're lying."  
  
"I'm not, and you know it."  
  
And Sam thinks he does know it, in a place at the back of his mind that he keeps locked away and wilfully ignores because it's easier that way; easier to believe that he's the only one who thinks like that, who craves things that he has no right to want. He knows his face must have betrayed something, because the Shapeshifter's starting to laugh.  
  
"You as well? God. Your family really is fucked up." He turns and walks towards the bar on the far wall, pours himself a drink. "I must say, I will be sorry to lose this skin. Your brother's got a lot of good qualities. You should appreciate it more than you do." He turns back to Sam and smiles at him, awful and dark and like they're sharing a secret. "Cheers."  
  
  
  
  
 **II**  
  
  
Dean's eyes are always on him just a little too long.  
  
They stopped at the first motel they reached after nightfall on the way out of St Louis, and Sam spent the whole drive thinking about it. He never realised it before and doesn't know how he could have spent so long with Dean without realising how his eyes always linger. It's almost unbelievable considering the effort Sam puts in to not getting caught looking himself, the fine art he worked out before he even left for Stanford that's meant to make sure that Dean never finds out.  
  
Sam can't even decide if that part matters any more.  
  
He lies on his bed and watches the news with the sound off until long after Dean's fallen asleep, and then the story Sam's been waiting for comes on – Dean Winchester shot dead in St. Louis, Missouri, wanted for murder. Sam doesn't need the sound to know what they're saying. He stares at his cellphone for a while before he picks it up and dials, then ends up leaving a good ten seconds of empty air after the beep while he tries to decide what to say. He sighs and talks quietly so as not to wake Dean.  
  
"Dad, it's Sam. The thing in St. Louis – Dean's fine. Thought you'd want to know."  
  
He hangs up, turns off the TV and stares at the ceiling. Part of him thinks that he should have lied. Hey, Dad, Dean's dead. Wanna come show your face, now?  
  
But he wouldn't have been able to get the words out. And a horrible, bitter part of Sam wonders if it would have even worked. If it wouldn't have, Sam doesn't want to know.  
  
Sam's tired of thinking; it's exhausting and he's getting nowhere. There's no way he can come to terms with everything tonight, so he sighs, closes his eyes and tries to sleep.  
  
\--  
  
When Sam wakes up he's hard, and there are half formed, indistinct visions of Dean still running through his head, but Dean's not in the room when Sam opens his eyes. Sam drags himself out of bed with the intention of jerking off in the shower and pretending yesterday didn't happen – he wouldn't be a Winchester if he wasn't living in some sort of denial, after all. Only, it looks like Dean beat him to the bathroom because Sam almost walks straight into him on the way in.  
  
Dean's hair's still damp and his skin is flushed from the hot water of the shower, towel slung low around his waist and it's all Sam can do not to slam him against the nearest wall and pin him there, taste his skin. But he doesn't, and Sam is suddenly all too aware that he's standing an inch away from Dean, he's still hard and Dean's starting to look at him like Sam's about to punch him.  
  
"Sam? You okay?"  
  
Sam takes a deep breath and realises he's staring. He flashes Dean a quick smile. "I'm fine. Give me a few minutes and we can go get breakfast."  
  
Sam steps around Dean quickly and shuts the bathroom door behind him. He runs the shower freezing cold and does his best to force thoughts of Dean out of his head. It doesn't work.  
  
\--  
  
They want to get as far away from St. Louis as they can, so they head out straight after breakfast. Not heading anywhere in particular for now, just away, and it feels far more aimless than usual. Nothing to think about that's waiting for them at the end of the road, nothing to prepare for. Nothing to occupy Sam's mind but watching Dean out of the corner of his eye, how he always holds far back from any kind of action but he always, always  _looks_.  
  
It's subtle, but Sam can't miss it – not any more, can't imagine how he ever did with Dean's eyes following the lines of his body every few seconds like he'll forget what Sam looks like if he doesn't. It makes Sam ache from want and it makes something twist in him uncomfortably, because Dean's his brother and it's not supposed to be like this.  
  
After almost four hours of breaking speed limits (no matter how many times Sam tells Dean that they're a law, not a challenge), Sam's so frustrated, so worked up he can barely sit still and Dean's stares have started to turn annoyed, then concerned. With a put-upon sigh that speaks volumes about how much trouble Sam's clearly causing, Dean pulls over with a spray of gravel and flicks off the radio, turning to Sam and grabbing his sleeve before he can manage to get out of the car.  
  
"Okay, what's wrong with you? You've been in a pissy mood since you woke up."  
  
"No I haven't." Sam looks pointedly down at his arm. "Dude, let go of me."  
  
Dean gives him that look that means he wants to know and he's not caving without an answer, and with every second Sam becomes more desperate to get out of the car before he does something he'll regret, because restraint is so much more difficult when he knows that Dean wants him back.  
  
Sam takes hold of Dean's wrist and tries to pull him off, but then Sam's touching skin, he can feel Dean's pulse, and then his hand's sliding behind Dean's neck without any conscious effort. Dean's mouth tastes like coffee and for the first time in so long something slides into place and Sam knows that this is just  _right_. This is how it's meant to be. Until Dean snaps to his senses and pushes him away, and he's actually shaking.  
  
"Sam, no, what're you doing, you can't-"  
  
"It's okay," Sam says, even though it isn't.  
  
"It's  _not_  okay-" Sam cuts Dean off, kisses him again, and he can almost  _feel_  it when Dean's resolve crumbles and he starts kissing him back, tugging at his clothes and pulling him as close as he can manage in their tight confines, manoeuvring himself until he's half straddling Sam's lap.  
  
Dean's aggressive; he kisses like he wants something and he won't allow Sam to hold back, and there's so much behind it that Sam feels light headed. He's rock hard in a second, all the reasons they shouldn't be doing this disappearing like smoke. It's intoxicating, and when Sam feels Dean's hands on his belt buckle he doesn't hesitate before he's reciprocating, pulling open Dean's jeans with fingers that feel numb, that won't cooperate. Sam takes hold of Dean's cock and Dean moans and drops his head to Sam's shoulder. It's awkward as hell, they've got no room to move and they're twisted around uncomfortably to try to get closer to one another but when Dean whispers, "Sammy", choked off and broken against his neck Sam stops caring.  
  
Sam presses urgently into Dean's grip, every dirty little fantasy he's ever had suddenly having genuine, terrifying, incredible possibility. His head's spinning, he can't hear anything but his and Dean's breathing and Sam's in real danger of embarrassing himself, coming like a teenager getting his first handjob. The least he can do, Sam figures, is embarrass Dean right along with him.  
  
It takes a little concentration, but Sam manages to find his voice. "Look at me. Dean. Look at me." And he does. First time Dean's ever done what he's told and the look in his eyes is devastating. There's so much in there that Sam can't begin to piece together, even to identify except that in this moment Dean's more open than Sam's ever seen him. It breaks him, and he comes clinging to Dean, the rest of the world fading to white and he's barely even aware of Dean coming with him.  
  
\--  
  
Sam's sticky, he needs to change his jeans and his body's starting to complain from being stuck in the same awkward position for so long. He listens to Dean's breathing calm, suddenly terrified of himself, of what they've done. And that's when he realises that Dean's still looking at him. Just like he always has, even though Sam never noticed, but the secrecy's been stripped away and Sam's last clinging hopes of normality with them.  
  
The car smells of sex, the windows are steamed up and they're parked on the side of a public road. Sam doesn't care. He can't make himself move, and he finds himself wanting to take hold of Dean, keep him still.  
  
Sam really should have worked this out before. There was never any other way that this could end.


End file.
